Brokken Knight

by Lynda J. Cox

  “But, Miz Abby, I promised Robbie I’d bring you to his house.”

  Abigail lifted the basket, noting it was much heavier than when she started. “Unless you plan to throw me across the back of that mule like a sack of feed, you aren’t bringing me to his house today. I’m going home.” She paused as another low growl of thunder intruded. “You need to get home, too, or you’re going to be caught out in that storm.”

  She climbed up the creek bank, leaving a perplexed looking Caleb sitting motionless in the middle of the small stream. A glance over her shoulder forced another sigh from her. “Caleb, go home.”

  She didn’t wait to see if he did as she told him.

  The thunder rolled louder and longer when she was less than halfway to town, and lightning visibly flickered in the northwestern skies. A scan of the horizon quickened her steps. This storm looked angry, as if all the pent-up anger in the whole world had been scooped up by the strong winds and used to fashion the black, roiling clouds.

  As usual, she paused on the rise just outside of town and swept her gaze over the small town. The activity outside of her house gave her pause. Sam’s old buggy hadn’t been returned to the livery, and if she was seeing correctly, nearly every horse, mule, wagon and buggy that hadn’t been taken by the two armies during the war were hitched to the rail in front of the house. She’d seen the like once before in front of Otis Beehman’s home when little Emily Beehman vanished after playing along the banks of Lighter Knot Creek.

  Her home was being used as a starting point for a search party.

  Ethan. Her heart faltered. She threw a glance at Brokken Creek, icy dread suffocating her.

  She lifted her skirts and ran down the rise, stumbling and sliding. Her steps quickened on the road, until she ran as fast as she could.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Numb. It was the only word Mathew could even think of to describe what Reed’s stumbling explanation made him feel. Numb all the way to the depths of his very soul.

  Reed said Ethan was fishing with Abe and him and had wandered upstream. About the time Reed heard the first distant rumble of thunder, Abe shouted that Ethan’s pole was drifting down the creek. After a frantic, fruitless search, Reed sent Abe for Victoria while he continued searching for the boy.

  He lifted his head to the front door when Abigail burst into the house and was caught by the sheriff. Victoria said something to her, and she crumbled against the doorjamb. She slowly lifted her face to him and met his gaze across the room. The anguish lining her face was palpable.

  At least one of them could feel something. Before the thought fully formed, a boiling rage washed over Mathew. He shoved his way through the men and women gathered in the parlor to begin the search for Ethan. Abigail shied away from him when he grabbed her arm and shook her.

  “This is your fault. You let him go, and you weren’t there to watch him.”

  “Mathew!”

  He heard Victoria’s warning snap of his name, but he was beyond caring. His son was missing. Missing because Abigail hadn’t been there to watch him. The color drained from her face and she shook her head. He didn’t know what she was denying, and he didn’t care. “If anything has happened to him...”

  He let the threat trail off.

  “If it’s anyone’s fault, Doc, it’s mine.” Reed closed the distance across the large parlor. “I shouldn’t have let him out of my sight.”

  A loud crack of thunder made everyone in the room startle. Victoria pulled Abigail away from him, and then said, her voice brusque and full of authority, “This won’t help us find Ethan. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before that storm fully gets here. Thomas, you and Molly start looking again along the east side of Brokken Creek. Melly, you and Gabriel, take the west side.” She continued to give instructions to the gathered townsfolk.

  Mathew slid a glare at Abigail. She still leaned against the doorjamb, her features drained of color, her lower lip trembling, and her teeth chattering. She clutched a basket of weeds to her chest, and when she dipped her head, tears tracked her cheeks.

  “Make sure you’ve got a raincoat and a lamp full of oil with you. If you find him,” Victoria finished up, “fire three shots. Let’s go, people. That storm isn’t going to wait for us.”

  Mathew took a step toward the door, halting when Victoria grabbed his useless arm.

  “You stay here.”

  “He’s my son.” Mathew jerked his arm loose of her restraint.

  “I’m very aware of whose son he is. And, you won’t do him a lick of good in the dark, rushing all over the place. You don’t know the terrain. Molly, Melly, Gwynn, Yank, Lavender, me—we all know the area. You’re just as apt to get as lost as Ethan is and then we’ll be looking for the both of you.” Victoria nudged her head toward Abigail. “Stay with her.”

  What Victoria said made sense, but it didn’t do a thing to lessen the anger over-riding the numbness in his soul. He watched with helpless frustration as the searchers swung onto horses or stepped up into wagons and buggies. He turned his attention to Abigail.

  She continued to require support from the doorjamb, the basket of wilting weeds clutched tightly to her breast, staring into the fading plants.

  “If anything happens to him—”

  “I’ll never forgive myself.” Her small whisper cut him off. “I shouldn’t have let him go with Mr. Reed and Abe. He was so happy they stopped to ask if he could go with them, I didn’t think—”

  “He’s only four. He can’t swim. He doesn’t know anything about being safe around a running stream.” Mathew shoved a hand through his hair and tried to rein in his anger. “How deep is that stream?”

  Abigail finally lifted her head to meet his gaze.

  Mathew’s throat tightened with the agony darkening her eyes. He reined in further on his anger. This wasn’t her fault, no matter who he wanted to blame. No one was at fault. Everything he wanted for Ethan had happened here, with her—and how many young boys went fishing with a friend on a warm sunny afternoon? “How deep is Brokken Creek?”

  The last remnant of color drained from her face. “It’s deep—over my head in a lot of places—and fast. It feeds Northview Lake.” The basket fell to the floor, the plants spilling from its depths. “Mathew, I’m so sorry.”

  He stepped through the scattered weeds and twigs and pulled her into his embrace. Her arms slipped around his neck even as she crumbled against him, an anguished sob tearing from her. He turned his gaze out the opened door into the rapidly darkening afternoon and the almost constant lightning creating macabre shadows that writhed in the street.

  One of the shadows separated itself from the others, and Pastor Grisson strode onto the porch. Without a word of greeting, the pastor walked into the house and placed a hand on Mathew’s opposite shoulder. Mathew kept his arm around Abigail’s back.

  “I’m useless in the dark. I can’t see a thing,” Grisson said. Mathew’s tenuous hold on his emotions slipped. Grisson’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “But, I’m very good with waiting. Abigail, I know you’ve been angry with me, and you have a right to be.”

  Mathew put a little distance between himself and the pastor without removing his embrace of Abigail. “What does this have to do with finding my son?”

  Abigail’s breath hitched into a muted sob.

  “Nothing.” Grisson pushed Abigail closer to Mathew. “And everything. Some time ago, Mathew, your wife admonished me to be a shepherd and to set the example for this town. I have failed to do that. I failed most miserably when I thought I could wait Abigail out. If she returned to church, I could save my pride and offer you an apology on her return.”

  Mathew stepped away from his wife and the pastor. “You picked a pretty bad time to try to apologize.”

  “I didn’t come to apologize.”

  Abigail’s head snapped up. “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I owe Mathew an apology, Abigail. You are very correct about that.” Grisson lowered his gaze to th
e floor for what felt like an eternity. He looked to Mathew. “I publicly made a baseless accusation, and I’ve listened to gossip and rumors. I owe you a public apology. But, I said I’m good at waiting. That seems to be all we three can do right now. Wait, and pray.”

  Abigail’s spine stiffened, and her head twisted in degrees toward the open door. “Get—”

  Mathew caught her arm at the elbow, pulling her to him. “Abby, no. Please, don’t throw him out.”

  She looked up at him. Fury and worry vied for the other in her expression and burned her tears dry. A less than steady breath eased the tight lines in her face. Another long moment passed as the rigidity to her posture softened. Then, she nodded.

  “Pastor,” Mathew said.

  Grisson again caught Mathew’s shoulder and draped an arm around Abigail’s back. He bent his head. “Dear Lord, we know how dear children are in Your sight. Your Son told His disciples to suffer the little children to come unto Him—”

  Abigail harshly inhaled.

  “—Ethan is lost. Keep Your eye on this precious child, just as You keep Your eye on the sparrow. Defend, protect, and guard him, until our rescuers find him. We ask this in the name of Your Son, our Lord and Savior.”

  “Disciples.” Abigail shoved free of both Mathew’s embrace and the arm Grisson draped over her. “I know where Ethan is.”

  Before Mathew could say anything, she spun around and raced out the door. Mathew hesitated for a moment. “Stay here, Pastor. Your daughter told the searchers to fire three shots if they found him.”

  He caught Abigail at the hitching rail as she backed the horse up to turn the buggy clear. “Where is he?”

  “With Robbie.” She jerked hard on the reins to back the horse faster.

  “Roden? Why...what makes you think...Abigail, stop.” He grabbed the reins, halting the horse. “Why do you think he’s with Roden?”

  “Get in the buggy. You drive. I’ll tell you on the way to Robbie’s house. We don’t have a lot of time before that storm breaks.” She scrambled into the seat of the small vehicle. “It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”

  “You’re not making a lot of sense,” Mathew noted, even as he climbed into the buggy. He threw a glance at the sky, and then slapped the reins over the livery horse’s flanks. “Which way?”

  She pointed down the main street. “Turn left at the next street and stay west.”

  The horse shied with the next bright flash of lightning and immediate, close crack of thunder. Mathew gripped the reins, keeping firm tension on the frightened gelding to keep it from bolting. “Why do you think Ethan is with Roden?”

  “When I was gathering plants this afternoon, Caleb Cantwell—”

  “Caleb Cantwell of the rock-throwing hornet incident?” Mathew pulled back on the reins when the horse half-reared in the traces.

  Abigail nodded. “He rode down the creek near the Davis’s old place. Said Robbie sent him to find me and that Robbie wanted me to come to his house because he had something of mine, but he would only give it to me if I came to his house.”

  “And you think he was referring to Ethan?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  The hair on the back of Mathew’s neck lifted moments before lightning struck the ground less than a hundred feet from them. The horse reared, screaming in fright. He fought the gelding back under control. “We’re going to get killed if we don’t get to Roden’s house soon or under cover.”

  “It’s about half a mile.”

  By his best estimate, they were half a mile from town, caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Mathew reined the horse hard to the left, slapping the reins again over its flanks to convince the animal to continue moving forward. The gelding plunged in the traces, its gait a mincing half-gallop. Another close lightning strike and Mathew knew the horse would bolt. Even though the rain hadn’t started, the lightning and thunder was enough to make keeping the gelding under control difficult. With only one good hand to hold wet, slick reins...he didn’t follow that thought to its conclusion. “Is Ethan safe with Roden?”

  Abigail twisted on the seat to him. “I don’t think Robbie will hurt him, but he has to be scared to death.”

  Mathew nodded, and the first heavy, icy, drop of rain hit his hand. “Is there any place we can take cover until this blows over?”

  Her mouth fell open. She lifted her arm across his chest and pointed at the sky over his shoulder. “Give the horse his head. We have to outrun that.”

  Mathew twisted around on the seat to view the storm. His chest seized. The leading edge of part of the storm twisted around itself, the different cloud layers as visible as a stack of flapjacks. The upper most clouds were a shade of brilliant icy green he’d never witnessed before, and lightning snaked out of the twisting, churning layers. At the base of the monster, a dust cloud rose in a writhing column toward the sky. “What is that?”

  “Tornado. Go, Mathew. Go!”

  There was no way they could outrun the beast bearing down on them, but if he ran the horse parallel to the storm, they might be able to skirt the edges to get away from it. He grabbed the long buggy whip and cracked it as hard as he could onto the horse’s rump. The gelding took off in a gallop. Mathew continued to crack the whip over the gelding’s head without hitting the horse.

  He risked a glance at the monster. A twisting, elephantine funnel lowered from the storm, dipping into the writhing dust and wind-flattened grasses. It was close. Too close. A sheet of rain closed around the nightmare, blocking its progression from sight, but the angry hissing howl of the tornado was heard above the pounding of the rain and the roaring of the thunder.

  The howling grew louder, and the buggy rocked violently from side to side. Abigail flung herself closer to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Dirt clods thumped against the leather hood. A piece of grass sliced through the leather as if it was a hot knife through butter. The rain hit like millions of stinging bees. Then it was past them. The rain still fell in great gouts, but the skies lightened with the fading sunset.

  Mathew gradually reined the horse to a walk. When he finally brought the gelding to a halt, he slumped in the seat, amazed they were all still alive. Abigail shook against him as if severely chilled. Even the horse shuddered with each heaving breath.

  He glanced at the path the tornado took. It appeared as if the land had been ripped open by a gigantic single-furrow plow that grew wider as it traversed over the grasses. The funnel cloud was no longer visible. Instead, a massive black wedge shape moved relentlessly away from them and toward the town.

  “Dear God...” Mathew couldn’t stop the words slipping from him.

  “It’s going to hit Brokken.” Her voice caught on the town’s name and a new shudder rippled over her.

  “We can’t get ahead of it to warn them.” His stomach sank. People were going to die, and he couldn’t do anything to prevent it. “All we can do is go to Roden’s house, find Ethan, and then go back to town and help anyone hurt.”

  Tears rolled down Abigail’s face, but she nodded her agreement. Mathew reminded himself those were her friends and neighbors in the path of that monster. People he considered his neighbors, too, and a few friends. There wasn’t even a devil’s bargain to make this time to try to save one life.

  “Hopefully, they’ll hear it coming,” she said, “and get into the storm cellars.”

  Mathew wasn’t even sure being in a storm cellar would save anyone. He lifted the reins and shook them. The horse managed a staggering step forward. Mathew immediately reined the gelding to a halt and looked at Abigail. “Which way to Roden’s house? We’re going to have to walk.”

  She scanned the landscape and then pointed back toward the tornado. “It’s back that way, at least a mile.”

  Mathew climbed down from the buggy and froze. Every visible inch of the leather hood was coated with mud and bristled with pieces of grass like an angry porcupine. How they had managed not to be killed—with grass and mud, no l
ess—was beyond him. He could only imagine what kind of projectiles the tornado would create when it hit a house. Or the town. “Wait in the buggy until I have the horse unhitched. I’ll help you down then.”

  Mathew spoke softly to the horse as he ran his hand over the animal’s legs. A cursory exam of the gelding revealed a multitude of scratches and welts. While he knew the horse had been running for its life and theirs, that they were a mile past Roden’s house startled him. Little wonder the animal trembled with exhaustion. He unbuckled the harness and led the gelding out of the traces.

  “Is he all right?” Abigail joined him next to the horse.

  “Seems to be. I thought I said I’d help you down.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself. Her teeth chattered, and she shivered. “You did. I couldn’t sit there because all I can think about is...” She trailed off.

  He was startled to see her breath hanging in the air. Muddy water dripped from her hair, rain soaked her clothing, and the winds had torn her braid loose and twisted long pieces of grass into the strands. “Are you all right?”

  “I think so. I’m just cold.”

  Mathew stripped off his frock coat and draped it around her shoulders. “It’s going to be dark soon. I’m going to see if there is a lantern in the buggy.”

  “Sam used to keep a lantern in it.” She pulled his coat more tightly around her. “But, I don’t know if it’s there anymore. Both armies during the war took everything that wasn’t nailed down. The only way we stopped them from taking the buggy was by pulling the wheels off it and hiding them in the woods.”

  “Hold the horse.” He held the reins out to her. “I’ll go look.”

  “Mathew.”

  His name sounded on a small whimper, and he hesitated.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let Ethan go without me.”

  Several strands of muddy hair were plastered to her cheeks. He gently brushed them back. “No matter what I said earlier, this isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have said it was. I’m sorry.”